Fargone
by DragonsAteMyMarbles
Summary: Eight hundred years before the birth of Anakin Skywalker, an ex-Jedi turned investigator tries to make one small corner of Nar Shaddaa a little brighter.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** Eight hundred years before Anakin's birth. The Jedi are at their height, the Sith are believed destroyed and, most importantly, I can write something in the SW universe without being tempted to use canon characters and completely derail them.  
Well, if you want to get technical, Yoda's about. But he's not the wise master you see in the films - and without centuries of backstory, all we're left with is "little green guy who talks funny", which is boring. So he won't be appearing either.

Rated M for some relatively grown-up themes (though nothing explicit, I hate writing that sort of thing) and general unpleasantness. I mean, it starts off with our ex-Jedi trying to work out how someone died. Some violence, sure, but it's Star Wars violence. Not exactly messy.

* * *

 _There are no coincidences, young one. The will of the Force governs all things.  
_ \- Jedi Master Lai K'nri

The restroom stank to high heaven. Gamorrean urine, Wookiee vomit, Gand discharge – you name it, somewhere on Nar Shaddaa there's a cantina bathroom that reeks of it.

Today's stink of the day: dead Zabrak.

It was a common enough occurrence on the smuggler's moon. There weren't any formal laws to speak of – short of "don't cross the Hutts", at least – so every now and again, a body would turn up and put people off their dinner. Most tended to ignore something like that unless they knew the corpse in question. Or, as in the case of the Rodian stood wringing his hands in the doorway behind me, the death had happened on their premises.

"So are you just gonna stand there, or…"  
I glanced back, feeling ripples of anxiety emanating from the bar's owner. Probably desperately hoping this Zabrak hadn't been an enforcer for some Hutt or other.  
"You don't have to watch, Roonis," I replied, stepping further into the room, "just make sure nobody else comes in before I've had a look."  
Roonis didn't need to be told twice. He disappeared almost instantly, soon replaced by the back of Juntr the bouncer.

The Zabrak lay face down in the refresher. Iridonian, going by the horns, roughly two metres tall and powerfully built. It would have taken some strength to have kept his mouth and nose underwater for long enough to drown him – unless he'd been knocked out beforehand, of course. The bathroom showed no signs of struggle, save for a dent in the neighbouring cubicle wall, too far away. No bruising either, at least on the back.

With some effort, I dragged the man's body out of the 'fresher and turned him over. It wasn't a pretty sight; eyes wide, tendons still visible around the neck, lips pulled tight across the teeth in a rictus of pain, or fear. Possibly both.  
Hmm.  
A drowned person's face would normally be relaxed, relatively speaking, particularly if the victim had been unconscious first. A precise blow aimed at his solar plexus confirmed my suspicions – no water was driven out of the Iridonian's lungs by my little thump, just what little air remained.

So, how did he die?  
The tension in his face suggested something painful, though the lack of any blood or external injuries served to discount stabbing, bludgeoning or shooting. Overdose wouldn't have left his face like that.  
Poison, then. Something fast-acting, probably slipped into his drink, any of the usual froth around the mouth would have been washed away by the refresher.  
 _Clever. But why even bother making it look like a drowning?_

A search of the man's pockets didn't turn up much, just some credits and an ID card identifying him as Noldum Dreay, a member of the Card Sharp pazaak club. Fancy place, owned by a particularly snobby Hutt named Yurro. So just what the hell had a high-roller like Noldum been doing in a dive like Roonis'?  
There was only one thing left to do. My least favourite part.  
Resting a hand on Dreay's chest, I closed my eyes – and opened my mind to the Force.

 _From the body, traces of fear and surprise – and behind that, before the pain, a measure of satisfaction. Pleasure.  
From the doorway, vestiges of worry from Roonis and boredom from Juntr.  
From nearby, beside the sinks, another impression. Someone else. Feelings of shock, revulsion, terrified realisation and… relief?_  
I opened my eyes as my perceptions withdrew. This had been no contracted murder; whoever Noldum's killer had been, they'd wanted to be rid of him for a long time.

* * *

"All done," I muttered to the bouncer, who stepped aside with a grunt. Roonis rejoined me seconds later, almost hopping on the spot with agitation.  
"So what's the score? Who'm I gonna have to bribe?"  
I shrugged. "So far, nobody. Unless the name Noldum Dreay means something to you. He come here often?"  
"Dreay? Never heard the name. As for… wait, yeah. Every week, same time, he'd come in drunker than a Duros grunt on shore leave, 'bout half an hour before Zaleena started dancin'."  
I glanced over to the stage, where an amber Twi'lek – older than most of her fellow dancers, though no less limber – gyrated around a pole to general hoots and catcalls, doing her best to ignore both her audience and my gaze. Even from across the cantina, I could feel her jitters as if she'd been wearing a neon sign saying "Freakout Imminent".  
"Aye, that's her," Roonis said with a leer, "y'want a private sesh, that's 50 creds."  
I answered with a glare. "Ten, Roonis. Best offer you'll get from me."  
"Fifteen and I'll throw in a double juma."  
"That's a double for the both of us?"  
"Aye."  
"Done."

The private booth was, somehow, worse than the bathroom with its dead Zabrak. So much lust and disgust had been poured into this space over the years that it may as well had been oozing out of the walls. It was a simple enough matter to block these impressions out, but I still couldn't help but shudder as I put up my mental walls.  
About ten minutes after our session had been meant to start, Zaleena swayed in wearing a fixed smile.  
"Tell me your desire, pretty thing," she breathed, hiding the tremor in her voice under a line she'd practised for years, "and Zaleena will provide."  
"I desire nothing more than a little chat," I smiIed, gesturing toward a spot at least a metre from where I sat, "and a drink, if you'd like."  
Zaleena blinked, the apprehension I'd felt from her earlier coming back in full force. She lowered herself down slowly, as if she feared the seat would swallow her alive, then reached for the drink and gulped almost half of it down in one go.  
"Have you ever met a man called Noldum Dreay?" I asked, keeping my expression as placid as I could.  
"No," she answered at once, lying through her teeth.  
"Are you sure? He always came to watch you dance."  
"Doesn't ring a bell. Dray, was it? Sounds human. We get a lot of humans here. All the time, every day, humans."  
Babble, babble. Like listening to a child make excuses for their missing homework.  
"He's dead now," I continued evenly. "How does that make you feel?"  
Relief, coupled with intensifying terror, washed through the dancer as her skin blanched in response.  
"Nothing," she lied again, "I feel nothing."  
Time to change tack.  
"Is this your only job?"  
"No, I dance in other places."  
"Anywhere in particular?"  
"Other places. Lots of them."  
I fought the urge to roll my eyes, choosing instead to gaze into hers.  
"Ever dance at Card Sharp?"  
"Card Sharp?" she repeated, unable to suppress a twitch under her right eye. "What is that, some kind of sabacc den?"  
"Something like that," I sighed, rising from my seat, "I'd best be off. Help yourself to what's left of my drink if you like."  
Without waiting for a reply, I strode out of the booth and straight toward Roonis, who was wiping the same glass now as he had been before.  
"Might want to send her home. She's not feeling great."  
Roonis nodded, and motioned to Juntr as I turned on my heel and left.

* * *

Card Sharp was one of those clubs you saw at least three of in every spaceport from Coruscant to Corellia. Old-fashioned glowlamps and swing doors, in stark contrast to the usual gun-metal grey of Nar Shaddaa's walls. Three Mandalorians in matching uniforms stood blocking the entrance, glaring at passersby as though daring them to come within striking distance – into which I merrily strode, earning a vice-grip on each shoulder.  
"Password?" grunted the bouncer left in front of me.  
"No idea," I admitted, trying for an amicable smile. Bad idea.  
"Five hundred credits for entry."  
"I don't have that—look, I just need to speak to- ow!"  
I winced as the bouncer to my left dug his fingers under my ribs, dangerously close to one of my favourite lungs.  
"No password, no entry fee, no go."  
Well, this was going nowhere.  
"There's something," I intoned heavily, locking eyes with the central Mandalorian and focusing hard, "in my pocket you need to see."  
The Mandalorian blinked. Twice. Three times. Four-  
"…There's something in your pocket I need to see."  
"That's right. I'll get it out for you."  
The bouncer nodded at his fellows, who released my arms.  
 _That's going to hurt tomorrow._ _  
_As swiftly as I could, I reached inside my jacket and produced Dreay's membership card.  
"Noldum Dreay," the lead bouncer read out, squinting at the small print, "that ain't you. Where'd you get this?"  
"He was found dead yesterday. Poisoned, by the looks of him."  
Quick as a flash, the bouncers flanking me had me by the arms again, nearly lifting me off the ground.  
"You kill 'im, human?"  
I almost laughed in his face. "If I killed him, do you really think I'd be stupid enough to come round here and rub your noses in it? I'm just trying to find out who did it."  
"Hrmmm," replied Bouncer #1, cogs turning in that big muscly head, "fine. Boss'll want a word with ya either way. Boys?"  
The other two grunted, and began frog-marching me through the doors and toward a staircase.

"Ouch. Thanks for that, lads."  
In typical Mandalorian fashion, I was thrust through the door to Yurro's chamber and unceremoniously dumped on the floor before him. As flabby and pungent as any Hutt one usually met, Yurro was curled up next to a bowl of… _something_ , some of which he would periodically grab and stuff into his gaping mouth. Beside him stood a Twi'lek man, presumably there to translate – or, at least, he didn't seem armed. This was fair enough, given most sentients tended not to speak more than one or two languages, and no Hutt worth his salt would ever stoop to attempting anything other than Huttese.  
Of course, anyone who'd been educated the way I had could both understand and make themselves understood more or less anywhere.  
" _Another human, for frack's sake,"_ Yurro boomed, _"what does this one want?"_  
The Twi'lek's translation was rather more tactful.  
"My master would like to know why you have come before us."  
"Noldum Dreay is dead," I replied, presenting the deceased's card, "I'm looking into the matter."  
 _"Dreay,"_ Yurro muttered, _"which one was that? The Weequay with the limp?"  
"I believe it was the Iridonian, master,"_ corrected his aide.  
 _"With the face like a smacked ronto?"  
"Yes, master. I believe you had just taken him on as a debt collector."  
"I remember now. Tough one, not easy to take down. Gamorreans, maybe?"_  
"Poison, actually," I interrupted, smirking ever so slightly at the surprise on Yurro's face.  
 _"Well, well. The human can understand civilised speech. Can it do tricks, as well?"_  
"I'd like to ask around, see what I can find out," I went on, ignoring the insult, "does that work for you?"  
 _"It does. Oh, and human?"_  
"Yes?"  
 _"Word gets out that Yurro can't protect his staff, my stock drops faster than bantha crap down a Jawa's throat."  
_ I nodded, trying desperately to force that image from my head.  
 _"You find out who killed our man, bring him to me. Alive. You'll be compensated."_  
Another nod.  
 _"Go, then. We're done here."_

Not a minute after I'd exited the chamber, I sensed a flash of somewhat-familiar blind panic from the direction of the stage and turned just in time to see a pair of amber head-tendrils whipping around the corner of the "private" doorway.  
Damn. Probably a back door around there too.  
Without going so far as to break into a run, I made my way quickly out of the front door and around the nearby corner – too late, it would seem, as all that awaited me was a closing backdoor and an empty alley. Still, all wasn't lost; I simply had to once again make use of some rather special talent.

* * *

Understatement of the year: Nar Shaddaa's a busy place. So many packed into so small a space, all with their own hopes, dreams and feelings, served as a kind of interference when trying to sense any one person through the Force. That said, I wasn't exactly flying blind; Zaleena's intense terror lit her presence up like an overclocked ion engine, strong enough even to leave traces on her surroundings. A trail for me to follow, clear as footprints through mud.

Left, right, left again. Down one alley, across a crowded street and into an even busier market full of people. Lots of Force presences masking the dancer's wake. Damn it.  
I picked my way through as quickly as I could, ignoring the series of elbows in my ribs and marketeers trying to catch my eye, stretching out my perceptions to the crowd's edges to try and catch her nipping off to the side, but nothing tipped me off. By the time I finally made it to the other side, I'd lost the dancer entirely.  
Nothing for it but to go for one of my seedier contacts, see if I could find out where else Zaleena worked. Probably either Kaldak or Vett, though Kaldak was slimier than a Vjuni slugworm and Vett wouldn't even tell you the time if there wasn't something in it for her.  
Tomorrow, though. Sleep now.

* * *

An hour later, I was just drifting off when I was jolted awake by a certain flash of relief. The same relief I'd felt the shadow of when I was investigating the toilet where Noldum was killed. _  
_A kilometre away at most. Two or three towers over from where I was.  
The words "will of the Force" echoed in the back of my mind as I rose and dressed to leave, but I chose to ignore them.

After eight hundred metres, two young urchins failing to pick my pocket and six offers of possibly lethal off-brand deathsticks, I arrived at the tower in question. Zaleena's little signal was fading fast, but there was… something else. Another presence, radiating energy, a nova among glowlamps.  
 _A Force-sensitive? Here?_  
Whoever this was, they had some power. Enough to drown out Zaleena, had I not been concentrating on her; even so, it was like trying to translate Trandoshan script while someone poked you with a stun-rod.  
As I ascended, I could tell this Force-sensitive wasn't far from Zaleena herself.  
Same floor, certainly.  
Pretty damn close, actually.  
Same room, maybe… definitely.  
It wasn't Zaleena, of that I was certain. If she was as strong in the Force as this other person was, she wouldn't have been able to hide it from me. However, given her age, it wasn't impossible that she might have had a child sometime in the last fifteen years. A powerful one, probably even Jedi material.  
 _Complications. Just what I needed._

As I neared Zaleena's apartment, I began to hear voices. Two different females, both speaking Twi'leki.  
"Mom?"  
"Not now, sweetheart, not now, we need to—"  
" _Mom!"  
_ "What? What is it?"  
"Someone's coming…"  
I froze just outside the door as a wave of someone else's terror once again washed across me. The girl had sensed my approach.  
"…Persistent schutta. Hide!"  
The door opened, and I found myself staring down the barrel of an old blaster pistol. Not a fantastic piece, probably at least a one-in-ten chance of it malfunctioning whenever someone pulled the trigger… but then again, the quality of the weapon generally doesn't matter after you've been shot in the face with it.

Slowly, deliberately, I raised my empty palms.  
"Don't be afraid, Zaleena. I'm unarmed."  
"Who are you, human? Why won't you leave me alone?"  
I spread my fingers slightly, trying to offer calming energies through the Force.  
"My name is Janis. I just want to talk."  
"Liar," she hissed, tightening her grip on the pistol, "I saw you talking to Roonis. To Yurro. You're here to kill me."  
"I'm not here to kill anyone. Please, if you'll just let me come in—"  
"Don't you move! I'll shoot you, I will!"  
"All right, then. Go for it."  
The blaster shook in the Twi'lek's hand, just a little.  
"What did you say?"  
"Shoot me, if that's what you want."  
I leaned forward, pressing my forehead on the gun's barrel. It shook again.  
"You're crazy, human. You want me to kill you?"  
"No," I admitted, staring up into her eyes. "I don't want you to kill me… and neither do you."  
A second passed. Two. Five. Ten. Twenty. With each passing instant, Zaleena's hand shook more and more, until finally it dropped.  
"Damn you, human, you're right. Come in, but try anything—"  
"You'll shoot me, and I'll deserve it. Thank you."  
Words couldn't express just how glad I was that gamble had paid off.

* * *

She still hadn't let go of the gun, but at least we were both sat down now. Zaleena's daughter still hadn't emerged from the bathroom, so I chose not to reveal my knowledge of her presence.  
"So, why did you kill Noldum Dreay?"  
A ripple of shock from the bathroom at the word "kill". Seems Zaleena hadn't quite got around to mentioning it.  
"Self-defence."  
I gave a small smile. "Poisoning someone in self-defence? Try again."  
"Fine," Zaleena sighed, reaching for her cosmetics and handing something to me.  
"Lip gloss?"  
"Rylothi Sunset. It's got garvain extract in it – no danger to you or me, but other races can have reactions. Bith get a rash, Quarren scales flake off…"  
"…and Zabrak die."  
"Yes."  
"So, what, you kissed Dreay to death?"  
"He'd been bothering me. Stalking. Started off buying me drinks, talking about how what I did was beneath me, how he could take me away from all of it. Not the first time that's happened."  
Unconsciously, Zaleena's eyes flitted toward the bathroom door where her daughter was undoubtedly listening in.  
"This carried on for weeks. More insistent, more forceful, wouldn't take no for an answer. He started following me after work; usually I'd lose him going through the market, like I tried with you."  
"Usually?"  
"Last week, he managed to follow me here. Waited until the place was empty, then broke in and left this."  
She handed me a small picture, a proud display of a certain part of Zabrak anatomy I'd really have preferred not to see.  
"So, you had evidence of harassment. Why not go to Roonis? He's not a bad guy, he would have at least tried to do something."  
"Roonis couldn't have done anything except bar Noldum from his club. Yurro could've done more, but he doesn't care what happens to the girls. And I'm pretty sure Noldum was on Yurro's payroll."  
I shook my head. "Roonis would have come to me. Like he did when they found Dreay."  
Zaleena locked eyes with me. "And what could you have done?"  
"You'd be surprised."  
Zaleena lapsed into a thoughtful silence, briefly tensing up at a noise from the bathroom then relaxing when I didn't react to it.  
"So what happened then?"  
"He came to see me before I started yesterday. Started making threats, said he'd sell me on the slave market if I kept on refusing him. Me… and my Shaari."  
"And then you said yes. Pretended to give in, and kissed him with those glossy lips."  
Zaleena didn't respond. She didn't have to.  
"Listen to me," I began, gently taking her hand, "you need to leave. Go to another planet, if you can. Somewhere closer to the Core, if not Coruscant itself."  
Zaleena nodded. "I plan to. Need to check shuttle schedules, pack…"  
"No you don't. Head for the spaceport now – take only essentials. Money. Whatever ID you have. Anything else can be replaced once you've resettled."  
"I can't just…"  
"Yes you can," I insisted, rising to my feet. "I'm going home for a minute, to grab a couple of weapons. Once I come back, we leave."  
"But… but why? I can't pay you, we'll need everything we have for the shuttle fare…"  
"Don't worry about that. Just get your stuff together."  
Before Zaleena could lament further, I strode toward the exit, a flick of my mind opening the door.  
And, of course, it was at that exact moment that one of the Mandalorian goons I'd met earlier decided to bang on the door – and rather than the steel door it was expecting, his fist met my face.

My first thought was that stars shouldn't really be popping up on duracrete walls unannounced.  
Then, I really hoped my jaw hadn't just split in two.  
Thirdly, the owner of that fist had just said something.  
"…I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of my cheekbones swapping places."  
"Funny," he grunted, poking me with the barrel of a pistol rather more imposing than Zaleena's dinky little thing. "I said get down on your knees before we shoot 'em out."  
 _We?_ I glanced over the chief-goon's shoulder and, sure enough, there were his two friends.  
"Ah. I see the gang's all here."  
"On your kriffin' knees, human. We've got some business to settle with your little friend."  
A convulsion behind me indicated just how much Zaleena was looking forward to this business-settling.  
On the bright side, I had a plan. On the not-so-bright side, as plans go, it was fairly terrible. It was also going to hurt quite a bit. Suddenly, I was keenly aware of the fact that less than a kilometre away there sat a lockbox containing a rather elegant weapon which would have come in _really_ useful right about now.  
"Why?" I asked, trying to sound obliviously innocent. "What's she done?"  
"Don't play dumb, meat. You led us right to the whore who took out our boy, an' Yurro _hates_ it when the girlies get uppity."  
The big fella leered at the woman behind me, patting his gun's stock with his free hand.  
"I might have a bit of a problem with that," I replied, drawing my right leg back.

As the lead Mandalorian turned to give me another whack on the noggin, my knee shot up and drove itself into his gut. Before he could straighten back up, my elbow had found the base of his neck – down he went, though probably not out.  
The other two reacted quickly – one aimed a shot at me, missing by at least half a metre, the other at Zaleena. Fortunately for her, my left arm had found its way between the Twi'lek and her attacker, earning itself a lovely burn-mark just below the wrist.  
Ow.  
I propelled myself forward, boosting myself forward with a burst of Force power, collided with the second grunt and flung an arm out to give the third a little _push_ into the door-frame. Both hit the floor hard and lay still. Satisfied that I wouldn't have to worry about them for the time being, I turned to deal with the head honcho – who had just once again raised his pistol, pointing at Zaleena, who had frozen in terror.  
I reached out with my uninjured arm, summoning my will to try and pull the man's arm toward me and away from the woman… seconds too late.  
A shot rang out, and the dancer breathed no more.

The fight was over in seconds. As I was still scrambling to my feet, the bathroom door burst open revealing Shaari, Zaleena's daughter – fifteen at most – orange eyes wide and wild, piercing the air between herself and her mother's murderer.  
A blood-curdling scream, a wave of force strong enough to dent a starship's hull, and the Mandalorian sprawled across the floor, limbs sticking out at odd angles, unmistakably dead.

* * *

 _Two days later_

"We commend you to the heavens, fair Zaleena. May another star shine this night."  
The small number congregated bowed their heads as a small cylinder was loaded onto a skyshot jumper, which swiftly departed to spread its contents across the starways. One by one, we stepped away from the Launchpad to allow young Shaari to bid her mother farewell in peace.  
"Don't beat yourself up, pal," said Roonis as reassuringly as he could, catching the look on my face as he came to stand beside me. "There wasn't anything else you could have done – hell, if you weren't there then they'd have done for Shaari too."  
"I know," I sighed. "I'll accept it eventually."  
Patting my shoulder, the Rodian left to comfort one of Zaleena's fellow dancers who was sobbing into her hands.

After a couple of minutes, I approached the teenage Twi'lek.  
"You know, the Jedi say that nobody really dies. It's part of their code: _there is no death, there is the Force_. We'll see her again, eventually."  
Shaari looked up at me. "You're a Jedi?"  
"No, not… not any more."  
"What happened?"  
Despite the girl's grief and pain, underneath it all I could sense a spark of curiosity. Empathy, even. Enough to bring a small smile to my face.  
"It's not a pleasant story, certainly not something I'd like to think about today. Maybe someday I'll want to talk about it, just… not after what's happened."  
Shaari nodded, and took my hand. "Home?"  
"Home."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** So yeah, it's been nearly a year. Short explanation: life happened.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 2**

 _We do not form attachment if at all possible. Family, lovers, even close friends can lead to intense emotion, to clouded judgement. Avoid tying yourself to people if you can, and such influences will never harm you.  
_ -Jedi Master Hroki Ert

"No, not like that. Push your hip forward, it'll put more power into— _that's_ it, well done. Swap sides."  
Shaari obediently reversed her position, and threw a surprisingly powerful right cross into the pad I was holding. I'd introduced the idea of teaching the girl how to defend herself not long after she had moved in to my apartment two months ago, and she'd taken to it like a Wookiee to tree-climbing. It helped that her reflexes were far sharper than you'd normally expect from a teenager and, like many untrained Force-sensitives, she was instinctively using the Force to cushion herself from the impact of her own blows. As a result, she could react faster and hit much harder without any additional danger to herself.  
She was a bright one, too. Not two hours after moving in, she had strengthened the encryption on my terminal's filestore, cleaned out some malware and somehow stopped the air-conditioner from making that mysterious rattling noise.

As far as I was aware, Shaari had no memory of what had happened after her mother died. Her Force-outburst had drained her both physically and mentally, and she had collapsed not long after she had avenged Zaleena's murder. According to her, everything between the Mandalorian's gunshot and waking up in my apartment hours later was a complete blank.  
When she asked what had happened, I told her that she had fainted after seeing her mother's body, which wasn't _false_ , but incomplete enough to cause me no small discomfort. I couldn't be sure whether or not she'd accepted this account at face value, but so far she hadn't tried to pull at that particular string.

"All right, that'll do for now. Good work."  
Shaari grinned. "Does that mean I get a question?"  
"I suppose it does," I replied, returning her smile. "Go for it."  
"All right…" she began, then fell silent as she chose her words carefully. We'd agreed on an exchange early on; if she could make someone smile, then she was allowed to ask me any question she liked – provided I could answer it simply within a few sentences. It was a technique usually used on younger apprentices, though Shaari had taken it to heart – life in a place as educationally impoverished as Nar Shaddaa was torturous for one as inquisitive as she was, so naturally she jumped at any chance to satiate her boundless curiosity.  
"Okay, got one: what are Jedi Masters like?"  
"All different, really. They can be impatient, gentle, funny, grim – they've still got personalities, they've just spent decades trying to keep themselves under control. People think they're these mysterious, infallible keepers of ancient wisdom, but don't believe a word of that. They make mistakes, same as anyone else, and sometimes even the Council can make some stupid decisions."  
A gleam appeared in the young Twi'lek's sunset eyes, and she opened her mouth once more to speak – then closed it again. A question for later.

* * *

 _Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep._  
"Ah, damn it."  
Unlike its inhabitants, the city covering Nar Shaddaa never sleeps. I knew, when I set up shop here, that sometimes I'd be awoken in the middle of the night by some caller or other.  
That didn't make that sort of thing any less unpleasant, though.  
I rose, dressed and sloped out into the main living area and met a sleepy-eyed Shaari who greeted me with a mumbled "whassgoinon?"  
"Door beeper," I explained, as another harsh _beeeeeeeeeeeep_ drilled its way into our skulls. Shaari nodded and sank into the nearby chair, rubbing her eyes.  
I hit the panel beside the door, which opened to reveal a middle-aged human woman wearing a sharp, well-tailored business robe and far too much jewellery, topped off with a scowl sour enough to make even a Duros wince.  
"Janis Fargone?" she snapped, casting a disapproving eye over my dishevelled appearance.  
"In the flesh, madam," I confirmed.  
"Disappointing."  
I blinked. There isn't much to say to that. The woman sniffed, scowl deepening as she beheld my new flatmate, who was currently trying not to doze off in her seat.  
"Oh well, I suppose it can't be helped. May I come in?"  
I stood aside, motioning toward one of the free seats in the living area. The woman perched on its edge, eyes never leaving me as I sat down beside Shaari.  
"I would never have believed it," she mused, before I could speak, "had I not seen it with my own eyes. The Jedi Knight credited with exposing the Longbar conspiracy, reduced to bounty hunting on the smuggler's moon."  
Next to me, Shaari's eyes widened, all fatigue forgotten.  
" _Problem solving,"_ I corrected her. "I'm not a hired thug."  
The woman inclined her head. "Problem solving, then. Still, it's a far cry from the lofty position you once held…"

"Enough of that," I grunted, not willing to be drawn into a lengthy disassembly of my activities. "Obviously you know who I am. What should I call you?"  
"My name is not your concern."  
I smirked, despite myself. "That's an unusual one. Is that 'concern' with a C or a K?"  
"Fine," she huffed, "you may refer to me as Lirane."  
"Lirane. A fan of the opera?"  
"Quite."  
"All right then, 'Lirane', what brings you to me?"  
Lirane paused, eyes flicking toward Shaari. "Leave us."  
Shaari gave a start and threw a discomfited glance my way.  
"She stays," I said, keeping my eyes fixed on this prospective client.  
"Jan, I don't mind—"  
"You stay, Shaari."  
"Really now, Jedi, be reasonable—"  
"She _stays_ ," I insisted, sitting up straight, "and don't call me 'Jedi'. That's not what I am any more."  
"As you wish," conceded the woman with a tiny frown.

"A friend of mine is missing. He and I were supposed to meet on Telos two weeks ago, but he failed to turn up; contacting his associates, I found out that he had disappeared. The Telosian authorities traced him to Nar Shaddaa, which as you know is out of Republic jurisdiction, and since there's no semblance of policing here…"  
"…you've come to me," I finished.  
"Precisely,"  
"So… what's this guy's name?" interjected Shaari, earning a glare from our client.  
"The details, _young lady_ , are on the datapad I was about to hand to your master."  
"I'm nobody's master, _madam_ ," I cut in, unable to keep the edge from my voice as Shaari glowered in agreement.  
"As you can see," Lirane continued, ignoring us completely and rising from her seat, "the last mention of him is at a transport dock not far from here. Perhaps you should start there."  
"Naturally," I agreed, gesturing at my apartment door to open it. "Once I find him, how do I contact you?"  
"It's all in the datapad. Now, if you don't mind, I've no desire to stay in this hovel any longer. Good day to you both."  
Pausing only to savour the expressions on our faces, she turned and strode through the door, which closed behind her.

* * *

"I don't like it," Shaari grumbled, pacing up and down. "Or her. Condescending old scow."  
Either my young friend had spontaneously developed telepathy, or she and I were in complete agreement.  
"We don't have to like her," I sighed, looking up from the datapad, "just her money. She's offering… wow, five hundred for this fellow Orinth's location, plus another two-fifty for delivery."  
Shaari stopped dead. "Seven hundred and fifty credits?"  
"Enough to feed the two of us for three months, at least. Which in itself might be another problem."  
"Huh?"  
"My standard rate is 100 credits, though that varies depending on a couple of factors, like difficulty and time needed – unless they genuinely can't afford that, in which case the client just pays what they can. But this Lirane, or whatever her name is, is willing to drop at least five times that without question."  
"So it's… what, a bribe?"  
"I think so. Maybe she's expecting me to run into some trouble that she's decided not to warn me about. Or maybe I'll find out something I won't like, that'd usually make me drop the case, and she's hoping the big creds will be enough to get me to look past that."  
"Huh, that _is_ pretty fishy. What other problems do you see?"  
"Other problems?" I repeated, surprised.  
"You said the big payout was 'another' problem. What else is there?"  
"You're a sharp one," I smiled, impressed by her perceptiveness. "You're right, that's not my only reservation.  
"Number one, she knew who I was and what I used to be right down to my old rank. That's not common knowledge – apart from you and a couple of others, nobody around here knows I used to be a Jedi. So either someone I trusted has blabbed, or she knew before she came to this moon."  
"But she called you 'Jedi', didn't she?" Shaari cut in, frowning a little. "That means she thought you still were one."  
"That's true. The latter, then. Number two: she knew about the Longbar conspiracy, and my role in exposing it. That information needs security clearance on Coruscant – not exactly high-level, but it means she either has that clearance or knows someone who does. She might even have been involved."  
"Wouldn't you remember her, then?"  
"It was thirteen years ago, and there were a lot of people who took part both in the conspiracy and in taking Kalon Longbar down. He was a senator at the head of a plot to assassinate the Supreme Chancellor, if you were wondering."  
"And you exposed him?"  
"Not just me. There were three other Jedi, including my old master, plus the Republic investigation team. I just found the final piece of evidence we needed."  
"So," Shaari began, "she's rich, knows a lot about you, and probably isn't telling us everything."  
"That's about the bones of it. Can you do me a favour?"  
"Sure," she replied, jumping eagerly to her feet, "what do you need?"  
"I'm heading out to talk to a couple of people about our missing person. While I'm gone, get on the computer and see if you can find out anything about 'Lirane'. Try people working for or with the Republic Senate, possibly with a connection to opera."  
"Opera?"  
"The name she gave us – Lirane – is a character from a Cerean opera called _Deceptive Peace_. I'd guess it's been playing recently."  
"Can do. And… uh…"  
Shaari trailed off, fidgeting slightly.  
"What's up?"  
"You said the only people who knew you used to be a Jedi were people you trust."  
I saw immediately where she was going with this.  
"Ah. Yes I did, and yes I do."  
I must say, I wasn't expecting the hug.

* * *

Merot Orinth. Human. 57 standard years old.  
Homeworld: Dantooine.  
Current planet of residence: Telos.  
Occupation: Filing clerk, Hoorl Acquisitions.  
Family: None, save for a few second-cousins on Dantooine.  
Notable characteristics: Birthmark near navel, chronic limp in left leg.  
Last known location: Nar Shaddaa, spaceport designation H77WT225. Sixty-two kilometres from where I lived.

I quickly decided it would be better not to think too hard about how Lirane had known about the birthmark.

The holo accompanying the datapad showed an unremarkable man. Not particularly tall or short, not especially fat, thin or muscled. Fairly old, but not decrepit. Not well-dressed, but not covered in rags either. Entirely ordinary, by all appearances.  
Of course, looks aren't everything. A Jedi without robes or obvious lightsabre wouldn't necessarily stand out to a casual observer, which is precisely why I tended to do without both.

It was certainly much more information than I usually got on missing-persons cases. Normally, I would count myself lucky if I was given more than a name and vague description. Regardless, step 1 remained the same; head to the spaceport, find out if anyone had seen him.

* * *

"Hrm. That's twice I've seen that mug today."  
I raised an eyebrow. Usually I'd be traipsing around for hours looking for any sort of trace, but today I'd struck gold within minutes.  
"When was this?"  
"Hold up, humie," replied the Weequay ticket vendor, "ye think y'mighta forgot somethin', there?"  
I sighed, sliding a few credits across the counter. "Better?"  
"Much. Alrighty, this fella comes in a few hours back askin' about transport to Muunilinst. So I says to him, I says 'look at the board. That's what it's there for.' Then he gets this shifty look, asks if there's anythin' goin' that's not on th'board. On the softly-softly, like."  
"And is there?"  
"Haven't a clue," grunted the vendor, stretching his arms out. "There's prob'ly the odd shadow-run, but they never runs it past me. I just sells th'tickets."  
"Anything else?"  
"Aye, there might be. I just can't… quite… remember…"  
I raised my hand from the counter slightly, the practised gesture helping me to give the ticket-man's mind a little _poke_.  
"Yes, you can."  
His eyes glazed over.  
"…yes, I can."  
"Go on, then," I smiled.  
"Aye. Fella leans in close-like, asks if there's been any arrivals from over Telos way. I says aye, two transports this last week. Then the weirdest thing happens… his eyes go wide and his whole face just _changes colour._ Goes all white. Izzat normal for you lot?"  
"Sometimes. What happened after that?"  
"Not a lot. 'E backs off, mumbles somethin', then fair legs it out the main entrance. Hasn't been back since."

I straightened up.  
"Thanks for that, my good man. You've been very helpful."  
The ticketmaster grunted in acknowledgement, waving the next person forward as I wandered off.

* * *

So, what did I know now?  
First of all, Orinth was probably still here. He might have been able to find transport off-planet somewhere else, but Muunilinst was a serious distance away. Nar Shaddaa was pretty much at the eastern edge of known space, and Muunilinst almost due galactic-north of the core.  
 _Come to think of it, I wouldn't be surprised if it's on the other side of Telos from here. I'd have to check to be sure, but it sounds like he's going back on himself._  
Second: judging by his reaction to hearing of transports from Telos, he didn't want to be found. He probably suspected Lirane would be on his trail after his no-show at their meeting.  
 _He's not just running, though. If you want to lose someone, either you hide in the crowds somewhere like here or Taris, or find somewhere remote without too much hungry wildlife._  
Only thing left to do was another Force scan. Striding over to the spaceport's only entrance, I leaned against a nearby wall and opened my perceptions…

…no good. There were just too many traces, too many people who had walked through that doorway. Any impressions Orinth might have left had been buried under the presences of hundreds of other visitors.  
Damn.  
Nothing for it but to head home, see what Shaari had managed to—

 _whack_

Ow.

* * *

Now, generally speaking, anyone trained in the Force can spot an ambush a light-year away; malicious intent tends to stick out, especially if it's directed at you. Problem is, there is a _serious_ overcrowding problem on Nar Shaddaa – if you're not specifically looking for something, then chances are it'll pass by under layers and layers of other people, with all their thoughts and feelings jamming up your signal. And malicious intent's not exactly hard to come by around here, what with the smugglers, swindlers, thugs and thieves operating out of nearly every doorway and street corner.

I mean, I only sensed Shaari the first time when I got within three hundred or so metres of her, and she's got serious potential. Hell, you could probably drop a Sith Lord a few kilometres down the road from my place and I wouldn't notice.  
Moot point, given that the Jedi did for Darth Bane a couple of centuries back, but y'know.

(Coruscant's a different story. It's as crowded as the smuggler's moon, but wander into the Jedi Temple and the place works like a giant Force-antenna, amplifying pretty much everything. This happens with any place strong in the Force, but the Temple's been a haven for Jedi for millennia and it's growing stronger all the time.)

Of course, what I would do if I wanted to spring a trap for a Force user is simple: use droids. Not being biological beings, they don't have any presence we can detect (unless you concentrate _really_ hard on electrical oscillations), plus most people will ignore a droid unless it's bringing you a drink or shooting at you.  
So to make myself feel better, I chose to believe that it was a droid that had clobbered me and dragged me off to who-knew-where.

* * *

"A bag over the head? Really, Merot?"  
Whoever this was, they were speaking through a modulator. An odd precaution, but you never knew with people around here.

…Wait. Merot? Wasn't that—

"Sorry, ma'am, I don't follow."  
Ah. A woman under the modulator, then.  
"Our captive is a _Jedi_ , idiot. Blinding them does nothing."  
Well, not precisely nothing. It was a bit uncomfortable.  
Still, she had a point; even in the pitch-darkness of whatever this fabric was, I could tell I'd been tied to a chair with some fairly heavy-duty cables, sat in the centre of a cubic room five metres across, containing four presences. The two who'd spoken were in front of me – one nervous, the other restraining some serious anger. Another two were stood behind me, a metre or so apart, somewhat restless, pointing blaster rifles at the back of my head.  
Charming.

The nervous man hurried toward me and fumbled with my bag, eventually dragging it upward. A quick glance in his direction as he scuttled back into the shadows confirmed my suspicions – that had been Merot Orinth.  
Well, wasn't this bloody typical.

Best to start with a smile.  
"Thanks for that, Merot. Bit stuffy, that thing."  
Merot only whimpered in response before the disguised voice spoke again.  
"I expect you're wondering why we brought you here, _Jedi_."  
I sighed. "Still not a Jedi, Lirane."  
A ripple of surprise. "What?"  
I grinned. "Same height and build, same accent, ambushing me right outside the place you'd directed me to? You could've at least worn heels, or something."  
Lirane deactivated her modulator with a beep.  
"So," I continued, "either you fed a story to the ticket guy at the spaceport, or sent Merot along to do some amateur dramatics for him. Then set an ambush outside and dragged me… hmm, I'd guess we're somewhere nearby, or you'd have just ambushed me near my place. A little contrived for a kidnapping, no?"  
I didn't even have to look at their faces to know I'd hit the nail on the head.

Lirane leaned forward. "Well, aren't you a clever one. I should have expected as much from Kalon's murderer."  
This was news to me. "Kalon Longbar is dead?"  
"Don't play the fool with me," she hissed, letting some of that anger show, "it was simple to piece things together – first, Kalon dies mysteriously in prison on Byblos. Two days later, you return to Coruscant after supposedly completing a mission on nearby Loronar. Then, after another week, you flee the Jedi Temple and the Republic for the Outer Rim. Case closed."  
This sounded like ronto scrag.  
"So I was your first suspect?"  
"Of course you were," she snapped, "after poor Kalon was stripped of everything he'd worked so hard for on some trumped-up charge, I kept an eye on every one of you self-righteous Jedi scum responsible for his downfall. Of those left alive, you were the only one not on Coruscant when my poor brother met his end, it _had_ to have been you!"  
A giant steaming pile of ronto scrag. Still, she'd let something slip.  
"Your brother? You're telling me you're Ferese Longbar?"  
A quiet curse told me I was right. Kalon's younger sister had had nothing to do with her brother's dealings, as far as the investigation could make out – she'd been living on the family's native Corellia all her life up to that point, and spent a good portion of the trial screaming about how we'd dreamt up a huge pack of lies to smear Kalon with.  
"Ferese Thurron now," she snarled, "and I knew you weren't finished with him. I _knew_ one of you would finish what you started when that master of yours maimed him on that rooftop."  
 _Maimed_ was going a bit far. Rezak had cut Longbar's blaster in half, taking three fingertips with it. With his family's wealth, he could easily afford replacements even in prison.

It was then that I noticed a small prickle at the back of my mind. Another presence was approaching, a damn strong one, zeroing in on me. With it, an odd echo, one which was intimately familiar.  
 _What in the hell is she doing?_

Ferese was still ranting, and hadn't noticed my brief lapse in attention.  
"…so superior, so smug, like being _one with the Force_ even means anything to real people. I'll show them. You're coming back with me, we'll clear Kalon's name and then they'll shove you in some dank hole to rot until nobody remembers your name! Men?"  
The goons behind me stiffened their stances attentively. "Ma'am?"  
"Subdue the prisoner and prepare for transport."

Three things happened in the space of a few seconds.  
First, Ferese turned away from me, motioning for Merot to follow her.  
Second, the thugs holstered their blasters and drew stun-rods.  
Third, a small metal cylinder dropped out of a vent onto Merot's head.  
"What the—"

Luckily for me, the goons' stunsticks were calibrated for humans. Baseline humans who hadn't been trained in how to keep conscious even when some serious wattage was shooting through their neurons. To take out anyone with Jedi training, you'd need to up your charge by at least an order of magnitude.  
That's not to say it didn't hurt.  
"AaaaaAAAAAaaaAAAAAAAARGH."  
See?

Even with the pain setting my nerve endings on fire, I'd managed to keep track of the metal object across the room. Under my mental direction, it now flew toward me sprouting a gleaming blade the colour of a summer sky, which neatly sliced through two of the cables tying me to the chair, enough for me to force (well, Force) the rest off me, before finally settling in my outstretched palm.

I turned toward the thugs, who were staring at my lightsabre as though it was a Dathomiri blacksnake.  
"She's not paying you enough for this. I suggest running."  
As one, the pair dove at me, swinging their weapons, which promptly cut themselves into pieces on my blade. The most difficult part was angling my guard so as to not chop off any incoming limbs.  
"Seriously, just run. I won't follow you."  
From behind me came a high-pitched, unintelligible scream as Ferese deftly drew a small blaster pistol and fired wildly in my direction. Spinning round, I leaned away from the first bolt, let the next three miss and deflected the fifth into the chair I'd just vacated. A grunt and a flash of pain from the corner told me she'd managed to hit one of her mercs, and the other quickly dived to the floor to avoid any more stray shots.  
"She's a loony," growled the injured grunt. I silently agreed.

By this point, Merot had disappeared, presumably fleeing as fast as his legs could carry him. Ferese was still firing at me, wild-eyed, screeching some improbable threat involving my lightsabre and a couple of my body cavities.  
She kept at it for a while as I stood there, silently batting her better shots aside as if I were back at the academy during blaster-remote lessons. I figured she had three, maybe four minutes until she'd drained her energy cell and I could restrain her.  
 _Or I guess I could just knock her over. Maybe try that trick Kiral showed me where you invert a blaster's charge polarity as it's firing and completely fry its circuitry.  
_ As I considered, trying to tune out Ferese's cursing, I was suddenly deprived of my choice by a rather larger projectile heading my way; it seemed my attacker had lost patience and decided to throw her weapon at me instead. I parried, and the pistol hit the floor in pieces.

As she turned to run, a gesture swept Ferese's feet from under her and she became more closely acquainted with the permacrete floor than she might have expected. Three seconds later, I had closed the distance and now stood over her, lightsabre still active but not held ready to strike.  
"Go on then," she snarled, "do it. Kill me like you killed Kalon, you damned schutta-spawned Jedi."  
"No."  
A flick of a switch, and my blade shrank back into its hilt.  
"I'm no murderer, Ferese. I'm sorry to hear about your brother, I really am, but it was nothing to do with me."  
Something about the way she spat on the floor suggested Ferese wasn't convinced.  
"Who then, if not you?"  
"No idea. Maybe someone Kalon stepped on when he was a senator, maybe a hired hit from someone he owed. Didn't the Byblosians investigate?"  
"They found nothing. Damned incompetents only spent four months on it before giving up."  
"Still, bringing me to them in chains without any hard evidence won't do much. They might make a show of questioning me just to shut you up, but all that would do is waste both their time and the credits you'd have to spend to transport me to the Core regions."

After another minute of glowering at me, Ferese stood up, straightening her robe after her fall.  
"Damn it, you're right. I'll let you go this time, _problem solver_ , but know this: if I find proof of any kind that you did have a hand in Kalon's murder, I'll be back. And I won't bother trying to take you alive."  
Probably about as good as I could hope for.  
"Thank you. Now, if you don't mind, I need to take a look at that guy over there you just shot."  
Ferese turned on her heel and strode out of the room, the anger swirling around her now infused with just the _slightest_ whiff of doubt. I could only hope that doubt would grow to eclipse what she felt about the whole situation, but I wasn't holding my breath.

* * *

"That should do it. It'll hurt like hell when it wears off, but you should be able to walk for long enough to find some bacta to slap on it."  
It was a simple enough technique; if you directed it properly, a small Force pulse sent through the skin was enough to temporarily knock out the nerve endings in a certain area, deadening any pain you might be feeling there.  
I'd have tried healing him more completely, if not for the fact that, one, I've never been very good at it; two, my head was already pounding after the recent clobbering and I'd no intention of making it worse; and three, it's not a good idea to advertise that kind of ability around here.  
Still, it was enough to impress the mercenary and his chum.  
"Thanks, pal. Y'know, you Jedi ain't half bad. Ex-Jedi. Whatever."  
With that, they departed, presumably in search of either a doctor or a stiff drink. I gave it about a minute, then raised my voice again.  
"You can come out now."

A vent cover on the wall slid aside and Shaari's head appeared, swiftly followed by the rest of her.  
"Please don't be mad," she mumbled, wringing her hands, "I just got this… this feeling you might need that. It was weird, like your sabre… led me to you."  
Ooookay. _That_ was probably the most frightening thing I'd heard all day.  
"I'm not angry, but… damn it, Shaari, you could've got yourself killed. If there'd been more guards, if Ferese was thinking a bit clearer, if…" I trailed off. There were so many ways that could have gone sideways.  
Shaari hung her head. "I just wanted to help…"  
"It's not that I don't appreciate it – you certainly made things easier, no mistake there – but I was a Jedi. If anyone on this moon is going to be able to handle themself, it'll be me."  
The girl nodded, but both her expression and the ripples she made in the Force told a different story.  
"I just…" I sighed, running a hand through my hair, "… just don't like you being in danger. Of any sort. You've been through enough."  
 _And she'll probably go through more. The Force won't leave someone like that alone.  
_ Concealing my weapon in my jacket, I motioned to my young friend and we left.

* * *

After a somewhat uneventful walk (only one attempted mugging) we arrived at the apartment to find two surprises: one, old Ferl passed out in the doorframe again; two, a flimsiplast roughly wedged into the mailbox. I passed the flimsi to Shaari and bent down to begin the arduous process of slapping the Ithorian awake.  
As it turned out, I needn't have bothered – a sudden squeak from the Twi'lek's direction did the job for me.  
"What?"  
"Look, Janis, look at this!"  
I took the slightly crushed polymer, stretching it out so I could read it. To my surprise, it displayed a receipt for a transfer of 500 credits to me, and a small note.

 _I suppose you did find him.  
F_

Well, wasn't that something.

* * *

Two hours later, I was sat staring at the door to Shaari's room, where she'd quickly fallen asleep.  
A bit early for her, but fine by me – a little privacy allowed me time with my own troubled thoughts.  
That was the thing about no longer sticking to the tenets of the Order; Jedi, proper Jedi, don't have doubts. Doctrine holds that the Force has all the answers, and if you're patient then they'll be revealed to you.  
But I couldn't just sit and wait. Passive acceptance wasn't part of who I was any more.

The girl was seriously powerful – with a few years' training, she was potentially strong enough to rival even my old Master. To be able to sense that I was in trouble from kilometres away _and_ use the imprint I'd left on my lightsabre after decades of use to find me was damn near unheard of. Any full-fledged Jedi could have managed it without too much bother, but as far as I knew Shaari didn't even know she was Force sensitive.  
If she'd been discovered ten years ago, it would have been off to the Jedi with her without question. My own issues with them aside, they would still have been the best bet for teaching her to control her talents.  
Sixteen was, however, far too old for the Jedi's comfort.

 _Do I tell her?  
If not, then she might find out anyway - and she won't be pleased that I hid it from her. And the dark side just __**loves**_ _kids like that.  
If I do reveal this, if she opens up to the universe… she'll need training. If not the Jedi, then someone outside them who won't try to use her for their own ends.  
I suppose the question is, do I trust myself to guide this burgeoning talent? Am I capable of helping this young adept tame her power?_

 _Or will history repeat itself?_


End file.
